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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25938448">Behind Closed Doors</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole'>Enterthetadpole</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518'>LaKoda0518</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha John, Alpha John Watson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, DOES NOT occur between John and Sherlock, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Doctor John Watson, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, John Watson is a Good Doctor, John Watson is a Saint, M/M, Omega Sherlock, Omega Sherlock Holmes, Omega Verse, mpreg discussion, omega rights</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:01:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,629</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25938448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The world that John Watson has always known is changing rapidly around him. Omega rights protests are on the rise, the government is increasing its presence in his workplace, and a transformative encounter with an injured omega sets his feet on a dangerous path that could hold disastrous - and life-threatening - consequences for them both.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg Lestrade &amp; John Watson, Harry Watson &amp; John Watson, Harry Watson/Original Character, Molly Hooper &amp; John Watson, Mycroft Holmes &amp; Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>HolmesCon Writers Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! First, Enterthetadpole and I would like to thank you for reading our collaboration! This started as a little idea that we were throwing around and, before we knew it, we had over 3000 words of plot outline. lol We will update as often as possible and will do our best to make sure you are not kept waiting :) With that being said, we hope that you enjoy what we have come up with as much as we have enjoyed putting it together and brainstorming as we write!</p>
<p>Second, we have to address a simple archive warning: Rape/Non-Con. This is a light warning. A scene is discussed but is solely for the plot. Nothing non-consensual EVER happens between our main characters, nor are either of the boys ACTUALLY raped or forced into non-consensual situations. Just so we are clear! We have a happy plan for our boys, even if there is a little bit of angst along the way! ;) They have a lot to learn about one another in this crazy world, but we promise you won't be bored! </p>
<p>Also, let's address the fact that this IS an ABO story where Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics will be featured heavily. Biology will affect our characters is very big ways and will play a major part in the story since their actions and decisions will be affected by the things they know and do. </p>
<p>We hope you are excited to read and are grateful for your support! Please leave us some kudos and comments if you feel it deserves it and let us know what you think! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Ugh, it feels good to sit down,” an exhausted female voice groaned, breaking through the surrounding silence unexpectedly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John jerked awake and pinched the bridge of his nose as the voice rattled his brain. Had he really fallen asleep? He shook his head to clear his mind of the left-over fuzzy haze before glancing up at his colleague. Across from him, Molly Hooper was pulling a sandwich and a packet of crisps from her purple lunch bag. “Ah, rough day for you, too?” he hummed in acknowledgement, turning to give her his full attention.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A fond smile crossed her features and she nodded, “I see I’m not alone either.” She dipped her head to the empty coffee cup in front of him. “Isn’t that your fifth one this morning?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John stared down at the white and blue coffee mug as if he had only just realized he had been holding it. </span>
  <span>He blinked as he mulled Molly's question over as well as his muddled mind could think at the moment</span>
  <span>. “I honestly stopped counting after four,” he admitted. “It feels like this day is never going to end.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed again, then downed the rest of the lukewarm coffee in three good sized gulps. The muffled chants from outside the slightly opened window made him sigh once more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d think by now they’d break long enough for lunch themselves,” Molly replied. “Been at it since before I even got here at 7:00 am.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding in agreement, John smiled tightly. “Yeah, they’re relentless lately; protesters have been out in droves, blocking roads, camping out in public places,” he shook his head and let out a short huff. “Hell, they even took down a couple of monuments not too far from my flat. It’s all I’ve seen on the telly, the past few nights as well,” he added, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly let out a concerned hum, “Goodness, I can’t help but wonder what this is actually doing for the safety of most of our patients. Sure, it’s been a busy day and I’m definitely not complaining - you know as well as I do, John, that Omegas need more freedom - but, well…” Her words trailed off as her eyes filled with worry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sudden change gave John pause and he furrowed his brow. It wasn’t like Molly to be anything less than her usually pleasant, ray-of-sunshine self but he leaned a bit closer, choosing his words carefully before reaching a hand out to settle on her forearm. “Hey… what is it?” he asked as he tried his best to keep his tone light and casual.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head slightly but glanced up at him thoughtfully. “Well, it’s just… I haven’t seen Mrs. Robertson this week and that isn’t like her. She never misses an appointment this close to her heat, yet I can’t help but wonder if all of this is scaring her? Maybe that’s what’s keeping her from coming in, you know? Like… how long can this continue before the government puts a stop to it or decides to silence them for good?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John shifted uncomfortably in his chair at the question. He knew Molly meant well and was a very caring doctor, but there were reasons why he usually steered clear of political discussions whenever he could. However, when politics were literally on your doorstep, it made things much more difficult to avoid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keeping silent is what we all have done for far too long,” he said softly. “And the need for change is becoming more evident with each passing day. Just last week it was a nightmare even trying to get the general supplies we needed for heat suppressions, Molly. So many invasive questions as to why our supply had diminished so fast, and the details </span>
  <span>that I was required to disclose</span>
  <span>? I mean...how would you feel if the government wanted to know not if, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span> you were going to have your first baby? </span>
  <span>They aren't even giving the fucking illusion of choice</span>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fear in Molly’s eyes seemed to triple as she gasped audibly. She glanced quickly around the small cafeteria and swallowed nervously before dipping her head low. “Christ, John… why didn’t you tell me before?” she whispered, a hint of anxiety creeping into her voice. “Do you think they know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John pursed his lips and thought back to the heavily detailed questionnaire that he had been forced to fill out. It was true that their inventory depletion had raised a question or two but he didn’t believe it was that serious… yet. He shook his head, affirmatively. “No, I don’t think they’re onto us. Not yet, anyway, but we’re going to have to be more careful,” he answered, his voice falling into a low whisper as well. “Treating omegas outside of this facility is forbidden and could definitely land us a hefty prison sentence and then what would happen? Like, I said, you have a choice; you have rights. For some omegas, we’re their only hope.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a thoughtful sniff, Molly leaned against the table and folded her arms. The tell-tale sign that this conversation was headed </span>
  <span>in a direction that John didn't want it to go at all</span>
  <span>. “That’s different though,” Molly said briskly. “As a beta, my cycles are generally mild compared to what omegas go through with full-blown heats. Comparing them isn’t fair, John.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And yet look how defensive you get at just the idea of the government controlling what happens to your body,” John replied. “And yes, of course, beta cycles are not as life-threatening as what omegas go through, but yet you are allowed to have control over what you want to do when you become of age. There is never a time that you as a beta, or myself as an alpha ever have to worry about being sold off to the highest bidder if we refuse to bond.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly gasped again, and this time actually </span>
  <span>reached out to pull John closer to avoid anyone overhearing their conversation.</span>
  <span> “The Omega Bonding Registry exists to ensure that their lives never have to come to that. Suggesting otherwise is a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John sniffed at the air and Molly’s anger invaded his nostrils. Part of him wanted to smooth over the situation and put her mind at ease, but there was a stronger urge to fight back against her softness towards the cause. “Now, do you honestly believe that? Or is that some sort of fairytale that your parents told you so that you didn’t fret about the omegas in your class having to stay indoors when they came of age due to their first heat hitting without warning, or that they were meant to be sheltered because they were </span>
  <span>too fragile to experience a normal life like you and I</span>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Molly looked as if she was on the verge of tears, but she didn’t let them fall. Instead, she let go of John’s arm and stood up. “We’re on the same side, John. I want omegas to have more rights just the same as you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With yet another shake of his head, John let out a heavy sigh. Deep down, he knew Molly meant well, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was also very naive. If she truly believed the lies that the government told them about all of the “helpful” and “progressive” resources they were providing for the omega population, he honestly didn’t know what else he would have to do to prove to her that the government was not as innocent as she wanted to believe. Sure, those resources existed, but they were only in place to ensure that more omegas were bonded for breeding purposes than to be cared for and nurtured to line the governments already bulging pockets. “Look, I know you want to believe that… and I know you always try to see the good in everything, but let’s be real here. You can’t understand something like this without seeing the ugly truths for yourself,” he answered, closing his eyes for a brief moment as he felt the overwhelming barrage of distant memories looming over him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tilting her chin up in a defensive manner, Molly sniffed pointedly. The gesture let John know that the conversation was coming to a less than desirable close but he held his tongue, afraid to say anything more at the risk of making matters even worse. In a way, he half expected her to be insulted by the way he had judged her, but he had to admit that he knew he wasn’t in the wrong. How could anyone know without living it first hand? What would she say, for instance, if she knew the truth about his past?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right… well, I suppose that’s that, then,” Molly huffed, clearly irritated with his seemingly rude behaviour. She fixed him with a wounded, yet angry stare before stuffing her lunch back in her bag and turning on her heel.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John wiped a hand over his face as his frustration mounted. “Molls, wait. I -” he started, but it was no use. His friend had already stormed out of the cafeteria leaving him alone with his empty coffee cup and a fresh wave of guilt threatening to consume him. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nice one, Watson…’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought to himself, already feeling the familiar weight of self-loathing settling deep in his chest as the alarm on his watch signalled the end of his lunch break. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Why don’t we see what else you can fuck up, today?’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>**********</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully the rest of the day </span>
  <span>had passed by rather quickly, helping him avoid another untimely encounter with Molly, but for sensible reasons.</span>
  <span> It seemed that the hospital had been packed with omega patients </span>
  <span>even more so in the afternoon than it had been that morning</span>
  <span>. </span>
  <span>Thinking it over, John reasoned that the current upheaval must have caused</span>
  <span> omegas to come out in record numbers to seek care while their future well-being was still up in the air. While most were fretful of what all of this would mean for their monthly medications and vitamins, </span>
  <span>one case, in particular, saw John spending the better part of an hour allowing an older omega female to cry on his shoulder about</span>
  <span> her alpha demanding one more child. </span>
  <span>The most distressing fact of that situation came with the knowledge that their last child had barely survived the birthing process.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The whole situation had made John's skin crawl with an overwhelming need to take all her pain and suffering away, but there was nothing he could do. Even as a doctor, he was severely limited when it came down to the list of solutions he could provide and in the end, only another round of heat suppressors and his reassurance that he would always be there to listen were all he could prescribe. His hands felt tied even more than usual and it was safe to say that the day's events had affected him in more ways than he cared to admit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When evening finally came, John removed the Alpha hormone-blocking device the hospital required him to wear from behind his ear, turning it back in at the front desk, and headed out before Molly could have a chance to corner him for yet another talk. Perhaps it was cruel for him to not want to drudge everything up again so soon, but he honestly couldn’t take another row. The day had drained him completely, and at this point, all he wanted to do was curl up with a hot cup of tea and a spicy takeaway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Inhaling deeply as he made his way out of the hospital, John could feel a bit of the day's tension dissolve as if an enormous weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. The night air was crisp and cool and the stars twinkled in the midnight blue sky above him. If he hadn’t felt so tired, he might have considered taking a long way home to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city, but </span>
  <span>his aching feet groaned in protest</span>
  <span>. Instead, he moved swiftly through Regent’s Park with the plan to go by that little Indian restaurant </span>
  <span>a couple of blocks from his flat to grab his favourite curry dish</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>'Definitely a better end to the day than the beginning, that's for sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>,' he thought. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he crossed a busy intersection, but he ignored it. He already knew that it would be Molly reaching out, apologizing for what had happened during their lunch, yet he felt she would still try to make her points heard. Maybe he had been a bit too rough on her today, looking back now to the things he had said. In all truthfulness, it wasn’t like John had a perfect track record of always assuming the best care needed for each omega that walked through their door or anything... Not to mention the fact that some omegas didn’t even feel comfortable with an Alpha like John caring for them since he was himself unbonded, regardless of the hormone-suppressor that he wore throughout his shifts. Hell, some of them </span>
  <span>even asked for Molly directly simply because of his Alpha status</span>
  <span> alone.  After all, why would any omega, in their right mind, actually trust an unbonded Alpha to advise them on their cycles and sexual well-being? He couldn't blame them for wondering whether or not he truly had their best interests at heart.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The very thought of such valid distrust made John’s heart sink as self-doubt threatened to take hold of his mind but he pushed the fear away. He couldn’t allow himself to think like that. He knew his worth as a doctor and he knew how hard he had worked to get where he was today. So what if some omegas found it hard to trust him? It didn’t change the vow that he had made to himself all those years ago. He had meant every word of it and he refused to let himself believe that none of it would ever matter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling out his phone, he swiped the new message notification away with a flick of his thumb and searched his contacts for The Purple Pakora. He’d had enough of the dramatics for one day. He needed to relax before his troubles got the better of him and he most definitely wasn’t going to do that by focusing on the past. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Or Molly for that matter…’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>his mind supplied as yet another text notification popped up on the screen. He swiped that one away as well, but a sudden sense of urgency filled him with dread as his entire body ground to a halt. The unmistakable scent of an omega in heat assaulted his senses and the sweet aroma seemed to taunt even his deepest, darkest desires much like the call of the siren to a lost and lonely sailor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The usual stimulants were very clearly present as John sniffed the air enthusiastically. A mixture of slick, arousal, and the decadent lure of an unbonded omega consumed him, but he willed himself to resist. After everything he had seen and experienced in his youth, he had promised that he would never allow himself to be the cause of someone else’s suffering, regardless of what the scientists said. No matter what their biologies seemed to dictate, it would always be wrong in John’s eyes for an Alpha to force themselves on an omega over something the latter could not control. While training his mind to overpower his biology may have taken several years worth of blood, sweat, and tears, it was something John now prided himself on every day. The process had been devastating, to say the least, but the benefits of such skill had proven to be invaluable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A strangled growl rumbled deep in John’s chest and he forced the focal points of his mind to scan the surrounding area. </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Focus!'</span>
  </em>
  <span> he snarled at himself. What could he feel? What could he smell? What could he sense? If the scent was this strong, there was no doubt in John’s mind that the omega in question was clearly in distress, but why…? Were they out past their curfew? He made to check his watch, but quickly dismissed the thought; the sun was only just beginning to set, after all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Closing his eyes, John allowed his sense of smell to reach out with intense determination almost as if the individual scent receptors were combing the air around him for hidden clues. For a moment, he was afraid that his attempts to decode the omega’s situation by scent alone had failed tremendously but, at the last second, he caught a whiff of something that sent a shiver down his spine. A terrifying combination of scents swirled around him, making his blood run cold as a deadly scene seemed to unfold before his mind’s eye. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alphas...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Panic-stricken, John tore off at a dead run, flying over the pavement as fast as his tired feet would carry him. "Hold on… I'm coming as fast as I can; just hang in there for me… Please, for the love of God, hold on," he muttered aloud as he ran, pleading with the terrified stranger in a feeble attempt to quiet their fears even though he knew they couldn't hear him. He sniffed the air every few feet, making turns and bolting across bustling crosswalks without thinking. His chest ached with exertion, his knees screamed in anguish, but he pushed through it. He knew he was close, - he just had to be! - but something was throwing him off, tripping up his mental navigation time and time again. He just didn't know what.</span>
</p>
<p>"Come on... Come on... Think, John, think!" he growled to himself, his desperation rising.</p>
<p>
  <span>Just when his heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest, John rounded a corner into a darkened alleyway and found himself face to face with his worst nightmare. The mixed aromas of blood and slick lingered in John's nostrils, causing his senses to cloud over, but the fear that gripped him was still stronger than his instincts. Everything he had hoped and prayed he wouldn't find was suddenly unfolding right before his eyes yet he couldn't tear his gaze away. The sight of three young, muscular alphas looming over the figure of a stranded omega cowering on the ground was almost more than his heart could bear. In the dim glow of the street light, it was hard to tell whether the figure was male or female but that hardly mattered to John. Something inside him had unexpectedly shifted, almost as if his entire sense of purpose had been redirected to a single point in the universe and that point was suddenly right in front of him. He didn't care how, or why, or when; all he knew was that he had to act fast. If he didn't, both of their lives would be in danger.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock Holmes finds himself in serious trouble as his heat is fast approaching, but John Watson comes along just in the nick of time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaaaaand here we have the second chapter! YAY! I can't tell you how excited we are to be getting this out to you all! :D After a wonderful time speaking and interacting with everyone at HolmesCon 2020, we hit the ground running and cranked this out as quickly as we could :) Thanks so much for your amazing support! Hope you enjoy!</p><p>TW: RAPE/NON-CON! NOT BETWEEN THE BOYS AND NO PENETRATION!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Absurd…’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sherlock thought, wrinkling his nose and shifting the items in his arms. His eyes rolled far enough back in his head that it was a miracle they were ever seen again as the woman in front of him tapped her foot impatiently. She was tall with bleach-blonde hair, ridiculously expensive clothes, and overly manicured nails, the type of person that usually made Sherlock’s stomach churn. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was that made him dislike her, at first, but the feeling was oddly intense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man beside her, however, was a completely different sort. He was shorter in stature, but a bit wider that one would expect to see in the company of the blond woman. His clothing wasn’t new, but it wasn’t exactly old either - last season at best. He was balding at the crown of his head and, to Sherlock’s surprise, hadn’t even bothered to attempt the usual comb-over fancied by most men his age. It was quite an interesting pairing and, in truth, seeing the two together in such a capacity sent the young omega’s mind into overdrive... but that wasn’t all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the man’s ring finger, Sherlock recognised the familiar silver band that most beta couples used to symbolise marriage in this day and age. It was plain with a light engraving and seemed relatively new considering the lack of scratches or smudges that would occur over time. The whole situation would have seemed completely normal except for the nervousness that radiated off of the man in heavy waves and the fact that the woman he was with did not possess a matching ring. Her fingers were bare, completely devoid of jewellery altogether, but tucked into the curve of her arm she held an at-home pregnancy kit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Old money flirting with temptation by taking a mistress,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sherlock deduced, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘She’s told him she might be pregnant but she must be lying.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>He took a deep breath and sniffed at the air around him; it was clear to his overly-sensitive nose that she had already had her monthly cycle and seemed a bit too calm for his liking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Out for money then,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mused, wiping a thin line of sweat from his brow. The temperature in the store seemed to increase slightly as his mind filled with a hundred different outcomes for the situation unfolding in front of him. He had to do something to alert the poor man, but he wasn’t exactly sure if his observations would be welcome in such a public space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the queue shifted and the woman placed the test kit on the counter, an idea struck Sherlock like a bolt of lightning. He slipped his basket to his other arm and tugged a notepad and pen from the pocket of his coat, quickly jotting down the information that he had deduced before tearing the scrap of paper from its binding. The man reached into his own coat for his wallet and proceeded to pay as Sherlock leaned forward and ever so delicately dropped the note into the man’s open coat pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The beta man didn’t notice, - Sherlock was an expert at being ignored. The man’s beady eyes were too busy counting his change and then throwing loving and supportive glances to the woman who would never deserve such devotion. Preying on the admiration and affection of others for personal gain was an offense that Sherlock did not take lightly. Something bitter and salty made its way into the back of his throat as he watched them leave. The cashier followed Sherlock’s gaze at the retreating couple’s backs, and then motioned him to the counter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lovely evening,” the cashier began. His smile was friendly in that way that caused the omega to wince internally. The beginning of a conversation that Sherlock was never in the mood to have, especially with an alpha whose marked neck and cheap cologne screamed “divorced” with a desperate desire to feel like he was in control of something in his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded in response, and placed the few items on the counter, quickly double checking that he had gotten everything he would need for his experiment. He sniffed the air again as he felt the cashier watching him intently. This time the scent of the alpha invaded his nose even more and he froze momentarily. There was a hint of arousal there on the cashier’s part now, causing Sherlock’s stomach to twist in disgust at the very idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even lovelier now with you here,” the cashier slurred out. The smile on his thin lips of the man stretched into something purely predatory. “Even with you giving that lump of a beta your number, I’d still fancy taking you out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, this alpha wasn't completely blind then, but, of course, he had reached the wrong conclusion; people usually did. They saw, but they did not observe. Sherlock rolled his shoulders as he tilted his chin up, a sign of assertiveness that had the smile on the cashier’s face slide off just a fraction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t give him my number,” Sherlock retorted, his irritation at the man’s ignorance becoming slightly more evident. He made a point of lifting himself up to his full height as he spoke. “I gave him a warning. The female beta that he’s courting has no desire for anything more to do with him except for his money and she’s faking a pregnancy to get it. He’s no better off cheating on his mate with the likes of her either. I despise those who use sex and courtship as bargaining tools.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reflexively, Sherlock wished that he could snatch the last words right out of the air and shove them back into his mouth. He’d given something of himself away and the alpha’s smile was now back in full force. “So, you're the romantic type then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock actually took a step back at that question, doing his best to stand his ground, but he was afraid he had already said too much. As he locked eyes on the man before him, his hand reached into his coat pocket to grab his wallet to pay. Perhaps that would give the cashier the clue that Sherlock was not interested, and let him finally be on his way. Instead, Sherlock’s submissive movement had the alpha press his advantage. His stubby nose now gave the air around Sherlock a suggestive sniff. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My… you’re in a loving mood,” the cashier chuckled. “Cheeky for you to be out of the house in your condition, darling. I get off at about half past ten if you need taking care of, yeah? In the meantime, we can just act like you came in with these things on the counter. My treat for being so pretty to the  - "</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The slam of Sherlock’s credit card onto the laminated surface between them echoed through the store. Sherlock didn’t miss the way the alpha’s pupils dilated in a mixture of confusion and yet more arousal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not interested as to when you get off here or at any other time,” Sherlock said. His own teeth were now bared and the air of subtlety completely abandoned. “Now, the total for my items should be, by my calculations, £27.33. I also </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> require the receipt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cashier’s lips parted in surprise, but it turned at once into something much darker in an instant. His eyes leered at Sherlock’s slightly opened white button down to his pale and unblemished neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Makes sense why no one’s claimed you,” the cashier muttered more to himself than to Sherlock. Then he quickly scanned the few items on the counter. “£27.33. Now get out before your heat stinks up my store more than it already has.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s eyes flicked up in bewilderment and he furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?” he scoffed, his instinctual disdain for the man slipping out before he’d had a chance to assess his own situation. Who did the man think he was, disrespecting him like that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You heard me,” the cashier growled coldly. His mouth curled down in distaste, either from the sting of rejection or just his utter dislike for Sherlock; it was hard to tell at that point. “Don’t know what you’re even doing out this close to a heat but you need to get lost. You’ll have every alpha within a twenty mile radius in my shop trying to sniff your idiotic arse out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Sherlock could protest, however, a sharp stab of pain shot through his abdomen, nearly doubling him over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘What the…? No… Oh, no, no, no, no!’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>An overwhelming sense of fear and panic swelled in his chest and he bit down hard on his lip. He couldn’t be falling into this, now. His eyes darted this way and that, frantically searching for the exit as his senses shouted “home!” at him over and over again, echoing off the inner walls of his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Concern and confusion clouded his thoughts as his eyes finally fell on the exit. He shouldn’t have been affected by this; what was wrong with his inhibitor? Mycroft had sworn to him that it would suppress his heats. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘For short periods of time, Sherlock. You know that…’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>his brain supplied, annoyingly enough in Mycroft’s haughty, know-it-all voice. He shook his head to clear his idiot brother from his thoughts as he raced out of the shop. He needed to get home. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The busy London streets bustled with traffic and people but Sherlock did his best to stay focused. He knew his way home and it wouldn’t take him long to get there if he just remained calm and kept to his senses. If he crossed over now and made a right turn at the intersection he wouldn’t have very far to go at all. He stuffed his purchases from the chemist into his free coat pocket. The last thing he needed was to lose them after all the hard work he had done to secure a couple of cold cases from The Yard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Sherlock did his best to gather his wits about him, sounds and smells were hitting him from every angle. Oversensitivity was yet another symptom that Sherlock should have been more aware of as his wretched omega body went about betraying him. Its need to open up wide and lure alphas in like he was nothing but a sex-crazed animal was infuriating. With a huff, he turned right down his usual pathway to his flat with the hope that his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, would be able to get him some supplies ordered before his heat destroyed any level of common sense and dignity that he had left. Calculations of how much time he actually had swirled through his mind as he adjusted his route to avoid as many people as he could. He had four to five hours at the most. He could do this; he </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> do this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pawing into his right coat pocket for his mobile to give her a quick ring, Sherlock stopped at the developing scene before him. A small cluster of men and women were on the high street. Their hands held signs that screamed out </span>
  <em>
    <span>Omega Rights Now! </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Voices for the Voiceless!</span>
  </em>
  <span> The chants of equality filled any empty space that it could and Sherlock recoiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Idealistic fools," Sherlock spat, a low groan punctuating his irritation. His fingers released the mobile and he felt the weight of it hit the bottom of his pocket. If he called Mrs. Hudson now she would surely overhear the protesters. He couldn't handle another conversation about how he should be doing more for the cause. As if she or any other betas could even begin to understand what it was like to be trapped inside your biology as he did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hi. Are you alright there?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock turned his head to see a young lady with her brown hair swept into a messy bun. Her dark jeans were a stark contrast to the bright blue shirt that read </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alphas for Omega Rights </span>
  </em>
  <span>in bold black lettering. She had made a point of staying a few meters apart, which Sherlock begrudgingly appreciated. A sign of respect for his upcoming condition that he wished more alphas gave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fine," Sherlock replied, both hands now in his pockets. "Just need to get home, obviously."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman bit her bottom lip as she watched Sherlock shuffle nervously from one foot to the other. Her light brown eyes traveled the length of Sherlock's body, and then she took another step back. It was as if she was pushing herself further away from even the slightest possibility of temptation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We have omegas in our group," she said quietly. "Five. Three males and two females. They can walk you back to your place. Safety in numbers and all. Would you like me to - "</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm very capable of taking care of myself," Sherlock said swiftly. "Good night to you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sweep of his Belstaff, he was off. The woman, now behind him, called out but Sherlock’s focus was already on a different route back to his flat. He never traveled through the city much, but he had always had access to maps of greater London within the various halls of what he called his ‘mind palace’. Within a few moments he had a new path in the forefront of his head. A right onto Lodge Road and then continue straight into Regent’s Park.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Setting off at a rather swift pace, he found the panic in his chest beginning to ease slightly with each step he took. The more distance that he put between himself and the protestors drew him back into the real world and away from their radical insanity. No matter how many streets they blocked or how many signs they made, nothing was ever going to change. Sherlock was sure of it; he had seen the papers. His older brother had tried to hide them from him but he always managed to find them, stuffed in the bin under an empty egg carton or tucked away in his briefcase where Sherlock snuck them out when Mycroft wasn’t looking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew about the movement taking place and, while the more ignorant parts of his brain dedicated to dreams and fantasies wanted to believe that there really was hope for a better and brighter future, the realistic side of him knew better. Life for an omega was never going to change nor was it ever going to improve. The government controlled the healthcare systems and The Order controlled the government. That’s how the system worked no matter how badly the general public wanted to believe otherwise. As long as The Order of the First Elite remained in power, omegas would always be held captive, living under the false-pretense of their so-called “freedom”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Freedom…  </span>
  </em>
  <span>The word left a bitter taste in Sherlock’s mouth even though he hadn’t bothered to speak it aloud. What would he really ever know of “freedom”? As he continued on, he couldn’t help the little huff of indignation that slipped from his lips. Freedom was a silly little notion that he had convinced himself long ago that he would never have the good fortune of knowing and, while he knew he should count himself lucky to have a brother like Mycroft in such a high government position, he couldn’t help the overwhelming bitterness that swirled in his belly. Nothing in an omega’s life was ever easy nor was anything ever done for the sole benefit of the omega, contrary to what the rest of the population was led to believe. The government viewed omegas as nothing more than property, prized collector’s items to be auctioned off and sold to the highest bidder if they reached a delicate age without finding a mate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole process was barbaric and degrading. What did his biology have to do with his value as a human being? Why did his secondary genitalia have any impact at all on what he could and could not do? Why were his rights stripped away simply because his secondary gender differed from that of another? Did being an omega really have to mean that he deserved to have every decision involving his own life held over his head by a board of elite alphas who just assumed that they knew what was best for an entire gender?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head, Sherlock glanced up at the sky above him, feeling the ghost of defeat nipping at his heels. Maybe in another time, things would have been better. Maybe in another time, the protests would have caused enough uproar to start a revolt, but, deep down, he knew better. Life had been slipping away from him just as the sun had slipped below the city skyline and a shiver ran down his back. He didn’t know the names of any of the buildings around him and the little red awning of the sandwich shop next to his building was nowhere to be seen. Something was wrong; he wasn’t anywhere that he recognised and Baker Street seemed miles away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sense of dread washed over him and the sound of heavy footfalls on the pavement behind him made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He sniffed the air in a panic, terror wreaking havoc on his brain as his eyes widened. The overwhelmingly strong scent of alphas slammed into him like a sack of bricks and he swallowed thickly. How could he have missed it? How? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chancing a glance behind him, he saw them, lurking in the growing shadows of the unfamiliar shop awnings. He could smell their arousal… Their evil, power-driven intentions reeked of entitlement and Sherlock’s biology began to betray him once again. Another sharp cramp shot through his abdomen and he bit down on his lip in order to keep himself from crying out. “Fuck…” he huffed, wincing as the pain threatened to knock him over. There was no use trying to mask his current state; if they were already following him this closely, then they already knew how close he was to his next heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the realisation struck him, Sherlock’s mind conjured up an extremely vivid image of what would happen to him if he gave into his body’s demented, involuntary desires and a wave of nausea spurred him on. The alphas were closing the gap behind him and he knew he had to think fast. He quickened his pace and pushed himself into a run, trying hard to find something that would jog his memory of the area around him. His mind raced as he ran, flicking wildly through the maps in his head, but he had no idea where he was running to; all he knew was that he couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he would find himself in very grave danger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rounding a corner with the hope of cutting down a side street, Sherlock found himself face to face with a brick wall blocking his path. His feet stuttered to a stop and bile rose in his throat as fear gripped his heart. He closed his eyes tight in a desperate attempt to drown out the world around him, but it was no use. Searching his mind for an explanation, he found himself clutching at straws. He knew he had seen this place before, but only ever on paper. He suddenly remembered the maps he had studied spread out over a large coffee table where the entire city had been laid out before him as he memorised every twist and turn he could possibly take. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘There isn’t supposed to be a wall here! How could there be? I never make mistakes! The maps have never been wrong!’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The pounding of feet echoed in the empty alleyway and a burst of alpha scent encircled Sherlock where he stood. He held his breath long enough to steady himself, and then swirled around to face them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ay now,” chuckled the largest of the bunch to the other two. “He’s a tall one. Bit skinny but that face alone more than makes up for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The alpha next to him chuckled back in response. His head tilted as he shifted to make sure that Sherlock had no way of continuing along the path. “Who gives a fuck about his face, Jack. It’s that plump little arse that really matters, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their laughter erupted around him, and Sherlock forced himself not to fall to the ground in submission. If this was where he “lost his virtue”, it wouldn’t be without a solid fight. “I suggest that all of you allow me to pass by untouched,” he said. His heart leaped hopefully at how firm and clear his voice sounded. “Or you will have to deal with the consequences.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More laughter…  </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time it was edged with something that must have been disbelief in response to what Sherlock had said. Taking a steady breath, he took the time to steel his nerves and recall the self defense courses that Mycroft had pressed him to take. What a horrible moment to have to be thankful to have his wretchedly controlling older brother in his life yet again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya hear that boys?” The alpha named Jack asked, still chortling madly. “Mr. Posh Boy said we’re gonna deal with the consequences. In case you didn’t get to counting in all that fancy schooling, sweetheart, there are three of us and only one of you. But don’t you worry yourself over having to choose between us. We are grand at taking turns, ain’t we, lads?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other two alphas nodded their heads eagerly. The smallest one began to take off his coat, and Sherlock could already see his tented erection in the silhouette of his form. He swallowed the disgust he felt inside as it struggled against his biological needs and bit back the urge to call for help. He didn’t want this! He didn’t want them; he didn’t want to be afraid and he sure as hell didn’t want to give in. He was going to have to fight them off which meant he was going to have to depend on muscle memory to recall the self defense techniques he’d learned from the omega safety course he’d taken all those years ago. Even if it meant that he wouldn’t win, Sherlock knew that he still had to try. Going down without a fight wasn’t an option as he did his best to size up the men in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He planted his left foot in front of him, drawing his more dominant leg back in a slight diagonal, his brain racing while he tried to calculate which techniques would work best. If he needed to kick, he was going to have to depend on his hands to do the distracting since he was fairly certain that his legs were stronger than his arms. He had never been the brawny sort; he had always been lean and lanky - as was common for most omegas - and, at times, that put him at an extreme disadvantage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock braced himself for more laughter, and, just as he expected, he got it as it came in waves, washing over him like a flood of humiliation. The largest alpha was nearly doubled over as he roared with a high pitched cackling that only made Sherlock curl his fingers up into even tighter fists. He’d really dropped himself in it this time. He thought for a moment about contacting Mycroft, but it was no use trying to use his mobile now. One of the alphas would surely overpower him and take it from him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Looks like he wants us to have to work for our pleasure, Paulie,” the smallest alpha said to the only one with facial hair. A nasty sneer played over his features as he spoke and Sherlock’s gut clenched in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Paulie’s heavily bearded face twisted in a smirk. The moonlight flashed across his dark eyes giving them an unnaturally bright and shining appearance. The uncomfortable sound of Jack cracking his knuckles drew Sherlock’s gaze over to gauge just how far away he was from the others. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine by me,” Jack smoothly replied. “Make it even sweeter when that sassy mouth of his is wrapped around my cock.” He flicked his attention to Sherlock as he fixed him with a steady glare. “You’ll be gagging for it, sweetheart. Literally.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock yelped as another painful cramp ripped through his middle and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The vulgar words twisted in his gut like a knife but he did his best to keep himself upright. With a faint snarl of his own, he spat at the larger alpha’s feet, glaring at him with distaste. “You’ll have to kill me first I’m afraid,” he growled, even if it came out weak and a bit too high pitched for his usual timbre.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The laughter around him slowly ground to a halt and, for a moment, Sherlock thought he had finally gotten their attention. Glancing around at the alphas’ faces, however, proved just how terribly wrong he was. Looks of anger and something akin to hatred glittered in their eyes and Sherlock’s blood ran cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>spit</span>
  </em>
  <span> at me, Posh Boy?” the largest of the three - </span>
  <em>
    <span>what was he called? James? Jack? </span>
  </em>
  <span>- snarled at him in a low voice, his tone dripping with irritation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock didn’t move or speak. He stood as still as he dared, waiting to land the first blow he could. His heart hammered in his chest, but he knew he had to stay patient. Maybe if he was lucky, he could at least prove to be faster than the three of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jack asked your fucking slut arse a question, eh?” Paulie hissed menacingly. His teeth were bared and any trace of humour had evaporated into the night sky. “Answer him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More silence, but there was a thunderous undertow behind it. The calm before the storm that destroyed everything in its sight with brutal fury was most definitely upon him. If he managed to get away now, it would be a miracle but he knew what he had to do if he meant to survive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Enough of this,” Jack grunted, and Paulie frowned but diligently bowed his head to the evident leader of the pack. “Nate, you like a little blood with your meal more than anyone. Take the first crack, but leave his mouth in good order for me to keep that promise I made.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smallest of the three stepped forward, cracking his knuckles as light from the nearby lamppost glinted off of the large, jewel-encrusted ring on his finger. Sherlock winced at the vague idea of what a piece like that could do to his jaw but he didn't have much time to dwell on it before it came hurtling at his head in a swift punch. He ducked to one side and his breath hitched in his chest. Without thinking too hard about it, he threw himself forward and landed a swift blow to the alpha's kidney before kicking out low with his back foot, aiming for the kneecap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Adrenaline rushed through his veins and he felt a surge of confidence as the man yowled in pain with the first strike, but his victory was short lived as a large and heavy hand caught his leg mid-kick, then backed him against the wall with a driving force. His back, as well as his head, hit the hard stone with a sickening </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Sherlock's vision swirled before clouding over. He hissed in pain as his head seemed to spin like a top, but he couldn't give up so easily. The alpha's hand closed around his windpipe as his other hand jerked Sherlock's knee at an awkward angle. A desperate yelp leapt from Sherlock's throat and the helpless omega struggled against the alpha's grip. If dying like this meant that he would at least leave this world with his dignity still intact, then he would most certainly die without regrets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock gulped for air as his body began to shake with the will to survive. All proper fighting tactics forgotten, he swung his arms wildly and blindly connected a blow. By the burn of a five o clock shadow against the back of Sherlock's hand and the muffled curse that came right after it, Sherlock deduced that he must have punched the side of Nate's face. The smack was hard enough to stun the alpha into releasing his grip on Sherlock’s throat, and with an agonizing thud, Sherlock fell to the cold pavement below. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His vision was still swirling and his knee ached like hell as he struggled to return his body to an upright position. At the expense of his last bursts of energy, he finally managed to pull himself into a seated position, resting his back against the wall as his head throbbed with sharp and brutal jolts of pain. He had run out of tricks. With nowhere left to go, he could only watch as the vicious scene unfolded before his eyes. Angry growls assaulted his ears as the others charged him where he sat, completely defenseless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll fucking pay for that, you God damned cock-tease,” one of them snarled. Sherlock inhaled as deep a breath as he could in anticipation and it proved to be a good move. A much stronger hand was around his throat this time, lifting him briefly, before slamming him into the ground with a fierce growl. Another pair of hands pulled feverishly at his trousers and pants until the cold wind hit Sherlock’s bare skin triggering a wave of goose flesh at the quick change of temperature. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There now,” Jack whispered. His hot, stale breath was only inches from Sherlock’s right ear. “See how pretty you are? Just needed a firm few hands to put you back in line where you belong.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock swallowed his whimper of fear, but Jack still must have heard enough to provoke his chuckling once again. The feeling of sharp teeth as he nibbled along the side of Sherlock’s neck set the omega to trembling while Nate rejoined the fray and clumsily ripped Sherlock’s shirt open. The sound of buttons rattling as they flew off from the force, deflected off of the surrounding brick, and then fell to the cold sidewalk below reverberated in Sherlock’s ear like a resounding death sentence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fuck, he smells good," came Paulie's voice in a husky purr. Sherlock's legs were roughly grabbed and pushed open and then the unmistakable sensation of an unwelcome tongue licked a stripe down his inner thigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No," Sherlock rasped. "</span>
  <span>God, no, please…" </span>
  <span>He instinctively jerked his knee up to protect himself, and his punishment was an angry growl as his head was slammed hard into the ground once more. There was a blast of white light in front of his eyes and then a searing pain shot through his skull as his vision tried to shift back into focus. He blinked a few times but there was no change. Only the remnants of half- blurry shapes appeared before him as he waited for the inevitable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Sherlock struggled to remain conscious, an angry shout echoed off the alley walls. The roar-like command held a deeper, more authoritative tone, signifying the appearance of an older alpha. Just as Sherlock’s luck would have it, it seemed that the real leader of the pack must have been late to the party.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who the hell do you think you are?” Nate asked, confusion clear in his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one of consequence, so long as you let him go,” the newcomer growled. He kept his voice calm and steady but his intent to dominate the others was blatantly obvious. Perhaps, he wasn’t in on their vulgar plans after all… or perhaps, he had come to claim Sherlock for himself. Like the sleazy cashier from the chemist's had said before, every alpha within a twenty mile radius would have scented him by now. Either way, finding himself trapped between four extremely challenging alphas was not exactly Sherlock’s idea of a good day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The larger hands that Sherlock now knew belonged to Jack released him as the alpha slowly rose to his feet. Sherlock closed his tear-filled eyes in an attempt to try and steady his racing heart. His head felt almost as if it was being ripped apart at the seams and he silently begged for a sense of relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He belongs to you then?" Jack shouted back at the interloper. It was clear that he had no use for the older alpha but Sherlock still couldn't wrap his head around their feud. The noises of the others fell silent as they seemed to shuffle back a few steps to allow the newcomer and Jack to divide Sherlock up in whatever vulgar increments they wished. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who he belongs to is none of my business," the older alpha replied. "And I doubt it is any of your concern either."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the younger alphas huffed out a breath of disdain, but Sherlock couldn't help noticing that they didn't move forward to attack. Regardless of how unwelcome the newcomer must have been, Sherlock's assailants remained uncertain of his power and therefore were uncertain of their next course of action. On one hand, it seemed that they could attempt to persuade the older alpha into their ranks; on the other, it seemed as if they knew they wouldn't have a shot in Hell at making that happen so they found themselves at a bit of an impasse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's lively enough for </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us to... appreciate," Jack muttered, and Sherlock's stomach lurched at the way the alpha had stretched out the final word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Pity," the older alpha said after a thoughtful moment. Something in his expression flickered dangerously but it was hard for Sherlock to make out exactly what it was. "You think a quick nonconsensual fuck in the dirt is worth a prison term. As if you lot can't get anyone you want from the local pubs. Or is it just easier to give the government more reason to think that all of us alphas need to be muzzled when the slightest whiff of a heat hits our noses?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The question hung in the air like a heavy weight and Nate whispered something to Paulie that Sherlock couldn't quite hear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We can get plenty of what we crave whenever we want it," Jack said, his voice slightly defensive. "Just know an opportunity when we see it is all, and you can't argue how good he - "</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jack," Nate interrupted. "Come on. Me and Paulie ain't about this no more. Bloke makes a point about jail, and we got no protection. What if we get him knocked up?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The older alpha made an approving grunt in regards to Nate's concern. "Nice to see you boys thinking with more than just your loins," he said, his voice sounding closer. "So why don't we just pretend I happened to come across this man completely by surprise. No trace of anything or anyone else, hmm?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More shuffled footsteps could be heard as the younger alphas seemed to gather  off to the side. Sherlock flicked his bleary gaze in the direction of what he assumed to be the older alpha who had somehow smoothly gotten near enough for Sherlock to make out his outline. Shorter in stature than Sherlock had imagined, his honey blonde hair glistened like gold in the small patches of streetlight and a faint sense of warmth settled over Sherlock's previous apprehension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can get better than him anyway," Jack grumbled as he and the others began to slink away. "But let's be clear. If we smell him again when he’s fully wet, we make no promises of what's left after."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A low growl left the stranger’s throat but he seemed to shrug off their threats quite quickly as he crouched down beside Sherlock, shielding him from any further harm as he assessed his situation. “That’s it, I’ve got you… Just hang in there… Stay with me,” he soothed, speaking with a gentle, hushed tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock flinched as he felt the alpha’s hands roaming over the various aches and pains of his body and, as much as his instincts told him to pull away - to cover himself, he stayed perfectly still. The fear in his body seemed to dissipate along with the stench of the offending trio and, even though he could smell the stranger’s strong alpha scent, something about the man calmed him in a way that he hadn’t thought possible. He blinked slowly, willing his vision to focus properly so he could at least get a good look at the man who was attempting to salvage what was left of his clothing in what seemed to be a last ditch effort to preserve his modesty in any form possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Straining his eyesight in the dull glow of the streetlamp, Sherlock caught a flash of deep, calming blue. Whether it was a shirt or a piece of jewelry, he couldn’t be sure but something about the colour reminded him of the sky in the midst of a storm. It was a dark and cloudy shade that seemed to soothe his fears like nothing he had ever seen before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man moved his hands to Sherlock’s head, jostling him slightly, and a searing pain coursed through the omega’s head. Sherlock let out a low whine, fighting the urge to curl in on himself. The pain radiated from the base of his neck, wrapping around the width of his skull with a torturous pulse almost as if his head had been trapped in a vice. A low hum of concern filtered in through the pain and Sherlock furrowed his brow. The stranger's fingers parted the hair at his crown causing Sherlock wince once again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Checking the apparent gash at the back of his head, the alpha soothed him with quiet words as a swirling blackness clouded Sherlock’s vision. The calming blue flashed before him once again and he tried his best to focus on it, blinking wearily, but it was no use. The beckoning blackness consumed him in a matter of moments, pulling him under the unsettling waves of unconsciousness as his thoughts fell silent for the first time in his life.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>John gets the omega - Sherlock - back to his flat and begins emergency care. Can he beat his biological clock and tend to his patient before the Alpha inside of him takes full control?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The next chapter of Behind Closed Doors is finally here!! We are so excited to share it with you!! 😍😍😍 Hope you all love it and can let us know with some kudos and comments 😘 thanks so much for your continued support!!</p><p>Special shout-out to MsScarlett for the amazing beta skills 🥰🥰🥰</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Stay with me,” John murmured, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure the other alphas were truly gone. “Just stay with me.” His voice rasped slightly as the words tumbled past his lips and out into the crisp evening air, the hoarseness an after-effect of the deep growl that he hadn’t used in quite a long time. What the hell had brought this on in the first place? Hadn’t the omega realised that he was on the verge of his heat? It was extremely rare in their day and age for an omega to be away from home even relatively close to the start of their cycle anyway, but to be out and about when it actually started was practically unheard of. </p><p> </p><p>The omega blinked and his head swayed unnervingly. His eyes seemed to shift in and out of focus before finally sliding closed, much to John’s frustration. “Fuck… I said stay with me!” The curse escaped in a low hiss but John’s mind was already two steps ahead of itself as yet another rush of panic set in. His hands worked swiftly, rolling up the sleeve of his own shirt and tugging roughly at the inner seam. The fabric ripped easily and he managed to tear a long strip free before laying it over the shallow gash at the back of the omega’s head. A thin layer of congealing blood seeped through the cloth, soaking it through as a deep red stain began to spread over it at a slow but steady pace. The amount of blood concerned him, but only a bit, having the wits about him to remember that most nicks to the head tend to bleed more than other injuries due to a large number of blood vessels around the skull. Though the wound may not be dangerously deep, it was certainly deep enough to account for significant blood loss if not dealt with properly. </p><p> </p><p>Without his medical bag, he knew he was fighting a losing battle with the head wound, so he shifted his focus to the omega’s lower body. Aside from the obvious scrapes and bruises where the omega’s clothing had been torn, a fair amount of swelling was evident around the outer edge of his knee cap. <em> Seems a simple sprain, but I won't know for sure until I can get him somewhere safe… </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Somewhere safe…  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>John didn’t trust the basic medical facilities in the surrounding area but knew they were too far away from his office to even consider that alternative. He grimaced as fear and doubt began to chip away at his previous confidence but, suddenly, an idea struck him. Thinking quickly yet again, he fished a hand inside each pocket of the omega’s coat, letting out a breathy “Ha!” of satisfaction as he found exactly what he was looking for. He pulled a brown leather wallet from the innermost pocket and thumbed it open. The picture on the required omega identification card stared back at him as he studied the information with a hopeful half-smile that vanished almost as quickly as it had come, melting into a disgruntled frown.</p><p> </p><p>Everything on the card, even the strange name the omega had been given, was listed just as it should be apart from the address. The return location shown on the omega’s identification wasn’t even remotely connected to a residential area of the city but was well known as a long line of government buildings and offices. Who the hell was W. Sherlock Scott Holmes and what would anyone affiliated with the government want with him? </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fuck, Watson… If this backfires... </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a quick shake of his head, John cleared the questions from his mind. It wasn’t any of his business what the government did or did not do in connection to anyone or anything but himself and his career. However, with a newfound patient at his feet and an oath to always take care of those in need, there was only one thing the exhausted doctor could do. </p><p> </p><p>Shifting his stance to regain his centre of gravity, he scooped the omega’s body up from the pavement and worked his way into a standing position. He tried his best not to think too much into the consequences he could face if he was caught but it was harder than he had imagined. John was well aware that what he was doing could land him in serious trouble, but, for the moment, he had a job to do: He would care for the omega and make sure that he was safe from harm just as he had vowed to do all those years ago after being sworn into medical school.</p><p> </p><p>No matter what the laws dividing alphas and omegas stated, John knew that right was right and wrong was wrong. He tucked his chin and shifted the omega’s - <em> Sherlock’s? </em> - weight in his arms as he made his way home.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>**********</p><p> </p><p>By the time John had gotten to the front door of his flat, his arms were trembling and incredibly sore. The Omega was slender, but still much taller than he was and the dead weight from the bridal hold was almost too much to bear. With a few well-placed huffs he had gotten them up the flight of steps and into the entryway. John peered around quickly to make sure that absolutely no one had followed them and then unlocked the front door all while shifting the omega in his arms enough to get the door open and clamber inside. With a swift kick of his foot, the door shut behind them. John's two-bedroom flat wasn't overly spacious, and at this precise moment, he hated his past self for being so minimalistic. It made manoeuvring his patient more involved, but John was eventually able to get the man laid out onto the living room couch. </p><p> </p><p>He needed to work fast. Even now the scent of the omega’s heat was growing with every passing minute. It had been easier to ignore it when he had been more focused on getting them both indoors, but now there was no outside airflow to block the rolling aroma, the combination of desire mixed with the much softer scent of flowers radiating from all around him</p><p> </p><p>In an instant, John’s mind grew hazy with want to touch the soft skin with his fingers and his tongue. The man lay defenceless right there for him to caress and kiss until they both cried out in ecstasy. </p><p> </p><p>“No,” John whispered to himself as he left the living room to gather the better medical supplies from the bathroom. “He’s injured,” John continued, his mind clearing at the words. “He’s a patient in medical need and you will treat him that way.” </p><p> </p><p>John reached for the sink with slightly shaking hands and turned on the cold water. Then used his cupped hands under the running water and splashed it on his face. He breathed in and out hard as he stared at his reflection looking back at him in the oval mirror. His hair was damp, sweat intermingling with the iciness of the splash. </p><p> </p><p>“Calm the fuck down,” he growled at himself. His dilated pupils and cheeks flushed with arousal had no place here and now. “Calm the <em> fuck </em> down.”</p><p> </p><p>He breathed in and out as he recalled his medical training. Before the Alpha hormone-blocking device had been a part of his everyday kit at the hospital, he had taken courses in how to curb his urges when times like these became an eventuality in his profession; to assist an omega patient in heat when he didn't have access to all the proper tools otherwise. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, he felt his heart slowing down and the omega scent lingering all around him was pushed into the background of his senses. He didn’t have a clue how long that would last before his more primal urge to dominate and fill and fuck would unravel any higher brain function that he had left. He would be damned if he would lower himself to behaviour like those filthy animals in the street.</p><p> </p><p>The medical kit in the bathroom was nestled in the gap between the small tub and the toilet, and John dove for it like it was the most important item in the world - at the moment, it was. By the time he strode back to the living room and dropped to his knees next to the omega, he had wrenched open the kit. He began unraveling the makeshift bandage at once, replacing it with much thicker bandages for the most concerning head wound. Now in the full brightness that came with the ceiling light, John could truly see the unconscious man and he was instantly struck by how lovely he truly was. </p><p> </p><p>His dark hair fell in thick ringlets that shimmered in the light, touches of auburn mixed in with the chocolate curls. John had felt its softness against the space between his jaw and throat as he carried Sherlock home and he couldn’t deny how wonderful it had felt. Slowly, he refocused his efforts and moved forward, lifting Sherlock’s head as he started to redo the head dressings. The omega’s mouth opened slightly in a soft whimper as John worked, but, other than the momentary flutter of Sherlock's long lashes, he remained still. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” John soothed. He was fairly certain that Sherlock couldn’t hear him, but enough years as a doctor told him that it was always better to talk to patients as you touched them. It was especially important now, knowing how much this omega had been through already. The white button-down he wore was ruined, stained with blood from what looked like everyone involved in the assault. Visible bruising from a chokehold on his graceful neck and defensive wounds on the palms of both elegant hands filled in the pieces of the story that John had been too late to witness. The tailored slacks were ripped in enough places for John to examine most of the minor scrapes, while keeping most of Sherlock's modesty intact for now. The right knee cap was definitely injured, but in a rush of relief, it was confirmed to only be a particularly nasty sprain. It would hurt like hell for the next few days, but was completely recoverable. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to have to check your pelvic area next...to make sure that there isn’t any deeper damage.”</p><p> </p><p>John’s now steady hands slid cautiously down the long legs bruised with clear signs of assault. Purple finger marks and angry red scratches peppered the otherwise gorgeous canvas of pale skin. Tenderly as he dared, John shuffled to the lower part of Sherlock’s narrow hips and, after delicate removal of what was left of his trousers and undergarments, John spread the omega’s legs open. At the first cursory glance, there thankfully appeared to be no outward signs of trauma and John felt himself release a nervous breath for the first time in minutes. </p><p> </p><p>Slipping on a fresh pair of latex gloves, he began to feel inside for anything out of place or swollen. All the while his gaze flicked up to Sherlock for any telltale twitches of consciousness or awareness, but the omega laid as still as ever. The soft yellow light of the table lamp made his cheekbones even more striking at the angle where John was positioned. The omega’s full lips parted slightly, and John felt a mesmerizing pull, wanting to touch them with the tips of his fingers, but he stayed his course. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, John found a small contusion in the upper area of Sherlock’s inner thigh. It was the all too familiar chemical burn of an inhibitor that had been in use for far too long. These types of situations happened more often with much younger omegas than Sherlock. Usually, it came down to ignorance of the need to regulate their heats or fear of additional medical insertion, but yet again this omega was different. <em> But why? Why had he felt the need to depend on such a dreadful device in the first place? </em></p><p> </p><p>With yet another shake of his head, John turned to his medical bag, fumbling through it for a moment before producing a small tube of burn cream and a bandage roll, along with a small antiseptic wipe. He tore open the packaging and swiped the area clean with the antiseptic before applying a generous amount of cream over the burn. It was strange to be doing this in the comfort of his own home, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that what he was doing was also highly illegal. </p><p> </p><p>He’d treated omegas illegally in the past, but it had always been with the consent of someone close to them, whether that had been next of kin or even with the permission of their alphas. Once again, he was reminded that this situation was very different. Everything about this situation set him on edge. He could face life in prison for what he was doing, but he knew that he couldn’t have left Sherlock alone on the street. </p><p> </p><p>Securing a strip of bandage around Sherlock’s thigh to protect the burn, John shifted his focus to the sprained knee. Whatever he did would have to be done quickly so he tugged a decent amount of bandaging free from the roll and wrapped the swollen knee to provide a bit of stability and cushioning while Sherlock rested. It wasn’t exactly his best job, but he was running out of time. He could already feel the pull of his alpha instincts threatening to overtake him yet again and he still had more to do yet.</p><p> </p><p>He tied off the bandage at Sherlock’s knee and tossed his supplies back into his medical bag in a hurry and stuffed it under the edge of the couch in case he needed it later. For the moment, the omega seemed to be doing about as well as he possibly could and that was all that John could hope for. His wounds had been cleaned and patched up to the best of John’s ability, but there was still one hurdle that needed to be cleared. For this, he needed a sheet of paper, a pen, and a shit load of courage to say what needed to be said.  </p><p> </p><p>**********</p><p> </p><p>“Still so many unanswered questions,” John muttered, glancing at the contents of Sherlock’s wallet one more time before setting it next to the envelope containing his pitiful excuse for an explanation. It had been more difficult than he had thought trying to write out everything that had transpired in the last few hours, not to mention who the hell he was and how Sherlock had come to be with him in the first place. What was worse was the fact that he had had to do so without knowing much of anything about Sherlock or how he would handle the information being presented to him at all, but somehow he’d managed to convince himself that this was better than the alternative: leaving the omega to wake in a strange location, in the midst of his heat, without any context whatsoever.</p><p> </p><p>Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in a last ditch effort to ward off a rather nasty headache, John let out a heavy sigh before bundling up the mess of blood-stained clothing at his feet and dumping it into the hamper at the end of the hall. He would wash them later, once all of this had blown over and he was able to return to his normal life again. <em> If there will be a normal life after this…  </em></p><p> </p><p>At first, he’d decided against changing the omega’s clothing, but after thinking it over, he’d taken into account that it might be more than a bit not good to wake up covered in your own blood. <em> ‘Especially if the concussion is worse than I thought and he can’t remember anything…’ </em>he had said to himself, retreating to grab an oversized jumper and a pair of ill-fitting sweatpants he’d received from an aunt several Christmases ago. They hadn’t fit Sherlock exactly right - a bit too short in the legs and arms - but they would do for now.</p><p> </p><p>Looking over the man on his sofa, it was still hard to imagine what he was actually allowing himself to do, what he was putting his license - his very ability to practice medicine! - in jeopardy for. “This is insane,” he said aloud, shaking his head for what felt like the thousandth time as a slightly hysterical chuckle slipped from his lips. “I’m absolutely mental… I can’t… I don’t even know…” He paused and dropped his gaze to the floor, closing his eyes with a soft huff as he pulled himself together and then squared his shoulders before pulling himself up to his full height. He couldn’t let himself break, not now. Not with something so important looming over him. </p><p> </p><p>John inhaled a breath as he doubled over and placed his hands on his knees. This ended up being quite a huge mistake as the scent of Sherlock flooded his nose once more, only this time its power made his mouth water. The last of the scent blockers from the hospital seemed to have finally filtered out of his system He wanted to taste and scratch and - <em> fuck, </em> he needed to get away from it before his alpha urges overtook him completely. </p><p> </p><p>Gritting his teeth, he cursed inside his own head as he practically threw himself down the hall and into the spare bedroom. He growled as he slammed the door and bolted the inside locks, the inevitable sense of dread mixed with relief washing over him. He could do nothing now but wait. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock wakes to find himself in a strange place, but it doesn't take him long to put a few of the pieces together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's BACK! lol Little by little we are chipping away at this thing :) Enterthetadpole and I are so excited to share the next update of this lovely story with you all. We hope it is all that you've been waiting for and we can't wait to add more to it! :) Thank you all for sticking with us while we navigate school, work, and just life in general as things slowly get back to "normal". We appreciate your support and are lucky to have such wonderful readers! xoxo</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Black shadows and fragmented memories swirled in Sherlock’s mind, dancing vividly behind his eyelids. Something was wrong but he didn't know what. A pounding ache in his head hinted at the horrifying events of the night before, yet he still couldn’t remember it completely. He’d been walking home… He’d been followed… He’d hit the ground? … And then what had happened?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes that appeared glowing with the help of the moonlight. A wicked laugh speared through the chilled air. No. Three different laughs. All male. All alpha. They had come to hurt Sherlock. Their vile hands all over his stomach and chest. Groping fingers prying his thighs apart to taste him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock gasped out a breath as he sprang up into a seated position. The blast of warm light assaulted his eyes and he blinked a few times to allow his night vision to adjust back to the indoor setting. Instinctively, he closed his legs and then instantly groaned in pain. The throbbing was soft but insistent and radiated down from his hips to what must be the tips of his toes. Sherlock had enough knowledge about anatomy to know that there was deep bruising on at least two of his ribs. Vague remembrance of a solid kick from one of the alphas in the pack was enough to corroborate that within his mind, although the name of that specific alpha was frustratingly missing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing around the room, he felt his heart rate begin to spike. This wasn't home, nor was it any place that he recognized. Had he been abducted? Held hostage? Perhaps one of the attacking alphas had decided that one night of abuse and assault just hadn't been enough… At this point, he couldn't rule anything out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With Sherlock's pattern for shitty luck, he had probably been taken for ransom after one look at his identification card. Having a government address wasn't exactly typical of an omega. Not one like him anyway. Sure, there were others, but those omegas usually weren't allowed outside of a certain perimeter without the protection of an escort — a luxury of which Sherlock had most definitely been without. Either way, anyone with an ounce of sense would have been able to place the location of his home address and would have realized that he came from a wealthy family.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shifted nervously on the sofa, sniffing the air with a sudden sense of urgency at the thought. With his senses on high alert, his panicked state waned slightly as he took in his surroundings. The flat definitely carried the intoxicating scent of an alpha male — one that smelled of cinnamon and something warm and inviting that Sherlock couldn't quite place — but the scent seemed to have gone stale some time ago.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>How long had he been unconscious?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to absorb his surroundings and stop any unhelpful data from hindering his deductions. Chop away the extra stimuli until he got a basic grasp as to how much danger he was actually in, and then figure out the best way to escape. As much as it irked him to admit it, Mycroft had prepared him for this type of situation. It was part of the deal that Sherlock had promised in exchange for fewer restrictions along with the self-defence training. Three months of intense crisis preparation in case of a kidnapping or unwanted detainment by an alpha who couldn’t take no for an answer. Sherlock had mocked the idea back then that he would ever need to put the skills into practice, and yet here he was in the thick of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sniffed again, but this time slow and methodical. The hint of the same cinnamon was there, but this time there were the telltale markers of maturity and cleanliness that none of the alphas who’d had attacked him could be associated with. The alpha here was older and much more confident in his scent. There was also the subtle air of what might have been an omega, but the scent was very old and fragile. As if whomever the omega was had vacated a very long time ago, but the alpha was compelled to keep some of their possessions around. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Early deductions leant towards a family member. The items of an ex-lover would not be something an alpha would keep unless attempting to again try a courtship, and if that were the case the scent of the omega would be stronger. The same theory would go for a spouse, and in either hypothesis, there would be the blended smells of heat bonding or procreation. Sherlock tilted his head up and gave a final inhale to assure that he was correct. It was a family member who had shared this home, yet what had become of them would be a long process to discover.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No matter. He was bound to find out sooner or later and, at the moment, he had more important matters to attend to. Like figuring out where he was and exactly who had decided to bring him here. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Swinging his legs over the edge of the sofa, he let out a quiet yelp. A jab of pain worked its way up from his knee but it didn't last long. Glancing down at it, Sherlock took note of the thick bandage wrapped around the offending joint and he couldn't help feeling impressed. Whoever had patched him up knew what they were doing so he was at least grateful for that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tested the stability of the injury, putting very little weight on it from different angles before deeming it suitable enough for standing. Once fully upright, he flexed the joint a couple of times, bending and unbending it slowly and adjusted his balance accordingly. No doubt he'd sprained it in the fight with the younger alphas but it would still take a bit more time to heal properly. He didn't know whether that fact should alarm him or not so he pushed it aside to join the pile of thoughts he would have to deal with later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he turned his head slowly, assessing everything from the cleanliness of his new environment to the curiously mismatched furniture, a bookshelf on the other side of the room caught his eye. It seemed to hold everything from paperback novels to medical texts and the wide variety of selection gave Sherlock's mind the proverbial kick that it needed. The other alpha involved that night had been a doctor… The one that had stepped in to rescue him from the assault. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With as much strength as he could manage, Sherlock made his way over to the bookshelf as quickly as he could. He winced slightly at the ache in his abdomen, tensing and pausing only once before leaning over the back of an armchair to curse under his breath at the stupidity of his anatomy. The sharp reminder of his monthly heat sent a shiver down his spine. Even though he'd remembered the assault, the fact that he was currently in heat had not fully registered with him until now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bookshelf was large and full of worn and well-loved books. Sherlock found himself scanning the titles of the spines and quickly realized that they were mostly medical texts. Among the thick journals were nestled in the odd rugby magazine here and there as well. The familiar feeling of intrigue began to itch in the back of Sherlock’s brain that he usually connected with the start at least a level seven mystery. He needed to know more about the alpha who called this place home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instinctively, he sniffed again. If he was to be trapped with oversensitive senses during this time he would take all the advantage of it that he could. Cinnamon once more, but there was a wariness in the undertones of it that Sherlock had not caught before. What was even more interesting though was that the wariness was not of Sherlock, but himself? The alpha in this house was guarded, but why?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A cursory glance around the sitting room told him that the alpha in question most definitely lived alone, now, but, as he had noticed earlier, that had not always been the case. Perhaps, he was wary that the previous omega of the house might return? Or maybe, something terrible had happened between them - a particularly nasty falling out? - and he was afraid of what may come of the circumstance? Either way, Sherlock could tell he wasn’t going to garner anything more from the bookshelf. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a flick of his wrist, he dismissed the medical texts and sports publications, turning his attention instead to the dusty mantlepiece above the fireplace. Where most people’s mantles were adorned with family photographs and a variety of useless knick-knacks, Sherlock found that this one was an exception. Instead of family photographs, he found a framed medical degree made out to “John H. Watson” - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah-ha… So, that’s his name… </span>
  </em>
  <span>- and a handful of bottle caps, all from various breweries and manufacturers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Frowning slightly at the random placement of something so insanely ordinary, Sherlock picked one of the bottle caps from the pile. The dull golden colouring was scratched off in places and the label read “Newcastle Brown Ale”. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Obviously a drinker… </span>
  </em>
  <span>He sniffed the underside of the cap in an attempt to delve deeper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or rather, he was a drinker… </span>
  </em>
  <span>The remnants of scent still left clinging to the strange little keepsake appeared at the very least to be about three to four years old. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Odd… Why hold onto something so small and insignificant?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy sigh left Sherlock’s lungs and he shook his head, placing the bottle cap back into the pile with its friends. So far, his search was proving to be undeniably useless and uninformative. What sort of person lived in such a barren wasteland of a flat anyway?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The clock on the wall read a little past 4:00 am.  He had been out and away from his flat for long enough for Mycroft to have noticed his absence. With an annoyed growl he reached to pull out his phone from the trousers that he momentarily forgot were not his, then he whirled around to try to locate his clothing. They were nowhere to be found. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His strategy moved him into the kitchen. Everything there had an aura of a once-beloved space that had slowly been chipped away to the barest of necessities. The stove only used once in a while to perhaps boil water, and the sink had only a couple of plates in it. The microwave in the corner was kept incredibly clean and on the side of it a few microwavable meals. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the opposite counter, Sherlock spotted his wallet. A small envelope with his name scrawled across the front of it was propped up next to it, resting against the electric kettle — no doubt intending for it to be used. All of the fixings for a proper cup of tea were stacked in an orderly pile next to it and Sherlock couldn't help the small stab of gratitude that shot through his chest. At least there were some comforts he wouldn't have to do without. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he looked through the contents of his wallet, checking to make sure everything was in its proper place, he glanced back at the envelope. The handwriting was slanted at a particularly interesting angle the likes of which indicated an extremely anxious and left-handed author. '</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dr. Watson…' </span>
  </em>
  <span>he mused, thinking to himself before dropping his wallet onto the countertop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He retrieved the letter instead, wasting no time flipping it over to tear open its seal. Inside, he found a folded up sheet of paper, the same hurried penmanship splashed over its front and back. The smooth curve of the letters painted an entire story in Sherlock's mind — </span>
  <em>
    <span>early 30s, unmarried but gets around quite a bit, slight tremor in the left hand. Possibly trauma-related depending on the department that he works for. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was quite interesting the things his mind could do, but he tried to focus on its contents as he glanced up at the top of the page where his own name stared back at him, once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sherlock —</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As you are probably aware by now, my name is Dr John Watson. I am a clinical physician for the local omega clinic in central London and have been employed by the NHS for the last 5 years. You were injured by a pack of three roaming alphas in the early morning hours of November 15th, and are in my flat until your heat has subsided enough for you to return home safely. The heat regulator you were wearing at the time had sustained serious damage and must have malfunctioned, causing chemical burns to your inner thigh. In this case, the device had to be removed from your body for me to accurately tend to your injuries, but I can assure you that my professionalism is second to none. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Other injuries discovered during my examination include a mild to moderate head injury and a severely sprained right ankle. With any luck, the latter should have corrected itself by the time you awake. Either way, please stay off of it as much as you can. I've left a bottle of paracetamol on the counter in case you need it for pain, but I hope you'll find the kitchen to be adequately stocked. There are plenty of fruit drinks in the refrigerator and enough ready-made meals in the freezer to tie you over until more can be delivered. I've arranged for a delivery service to drop off some supplies for you — mostly medical or grocery related, but if there is anything else you require or would like, just let the driver know and they will take care of it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>With that being said, I believe it is in your best interest to know that I am an alpha… After taking care of your injuries, I've locked myself away in another room of the house for the remainder of your heat. I wouldn't want to bring you any undue stress, but the more you know about our arrangement, the more comfortable I hope you will be. You're more than welcome to stay here for the duration of your heat, of course, and I can promise you that no harm will come to you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There is a key to my safe room hidden among the various books on my shelf, but under no circumstances are you to let me out unless your heat has completely subsided. No matter how many times I ask, no matter what I may try to promise you, do not unlock the door… Anything I say to you may be influenced by my secondary gender and I would never forgive myself for the things I might do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As a doctor, I can promise you that I have your best interests at heart. As an alpha, I wish to offer you protection from myself as well as any others who may threaten your safety. And as an advocate, I wish to offer you respect and support as the next several days play out. I hope my letter finds you well and, if you have any questions for me, I am more than willing to do whatever I can to put your mind at ease… </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dr John H. Watson, M.D. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Clinical Physician in Omega Biology</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sherlock's gaze hovered over the signature at the bottom of the page for a moment, taking in the overflow of information that had just been unloaded on him. He'd already deduced the fact that his rescuer was a doctor, but other parts of the letter seemed to bring new information to light. The ankle injury for instance felt like it could have happened days ago, although the head injury did explain the curious headache lingering over his left eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But what about the key…?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he had done with the man's occupation, Sherlock had also already deduced by scent alone that the man who lived in the flat was an alpha. The fact that he had remained in the residence with Sherlock in heat, however, was something else entirely. The information normally would have set off an alert somewhere deep in Sherlock's genetic core, triggering alarm bells and flashing red lights screaming for him to get as far away as he possibly could… but, the warning never came. The comforting words and the sincerity of the message etched deep into the parchment in his hand seemed to quiet his fears altogether, yet he still found himself curious about the key Dr Watson had spoken of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cautiously, his eyes flicked to the bookcase, scanning the shelves for any obvious signs of something secretive tucked away between the various rows of paperback novels and medical texts. Nothing jumped out at him, however, and he couldn't hold back the sigh of disappointment that slipped past his lips. If he wanted any answers at all to the questions plaguing him after reading the letter, Sherlock was going to have to get them straight from the source.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a short huff of confirmation, silently convincing himself that he'd run out of options, Sherlock turned on his heel and made his way over to the mouth of the tint hallway on the other side of the room. He'd passed it earlier on his way to the kitchen, but it hadn't truly been interesting until now with the possibility of more information stretching out before him. He'd always been curious, whether that was a good or a bad trait seemed to differ depending on the circumstance but he slipped down the hallway without sparing a second look for any signs of danger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The silence behind the door spoke volumes. The slight rustle of paper signalling the turn of a page suggested that the man beyond the door might have been reading, or possibly working, but Sherlock found it difficult to care whether or not he interrupted something important. He was in a strange place under very peculiar circumstances and he needed more than what the letter could give him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Raising his hand, something new caught his attention as he allowed his knuckles to rap sharply against the stained wood. He took in the heavily bolted locks on the outer edge of the door and the frantic myriad of deep, jagged claw marks marring its surface. Wood splintered in various patterns where the hinges held fast, but bits and pieces of its battered history began falling into place. This door wasn't originally built to keep anyone in. It had been put in place as a barrier to keep someone or some</span>
  <em>
    <span>thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>out… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dr Watson…?"</span>
</p>
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